


♥Cor

by Verdin



Series: This Too Shall Pass [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drugs, Horrible Things, M/M, Medical Procedures, Military, Other, Prison, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: Cor Leonis is sent to a mission behind enemy lines, and only too soon things take an unfortunate turn.Set some years before all that talking of ceasefire and peace at the beginning of the game.





	1. In which a mission goes haywire.

 Cor Leonis always had been willing to give his life for King and country without hesitation. To die a soldier's death, even if there was no glory in it.

Still, he was not willing to die here, between debris and rubbish in an abandoned building on the roadside. The rusty steel beams that impaled him through shoulder and arm had missed any vital organs, and though his mind was hazy, he was sure that none of the large arteries were hit. He had been stuck here for too long to hope for a quick demise anymore.

The Niffs had known he'd take this road. Some little bird sung about this very discreet mission in his majesty's service, and they had waited. Built an ambush. Blasted his motorcycle from the road with a targeted missile, then sent some soldiers to finish the job. Not even MTs, but simple soldiers...

When they found him, crucified on a broken wall, hanging like a puppet on a string, his left leg twisted and useless, they first stared, then laughed.

Some Immortal he was.

They took their time with him. Taking off his helmet, cutting of parts of the sturdy black leather he wore. Taking pictures of his calamity to prove the job was not only done, but that even Insomnia's bigshots were prone to a mortifying fate.

Then one of them had taken out a black marker, proclaiming he had an excellent idea, and wrote a word on Cor's naked skin. “Slut” the letters said.

His comrades were taken with this idea, and soon enough only small scraps of Cor's jacket and his boots remained, while they covered him in the kind of graffiti only found in restrooms and seedy alleys. They finished with a “cocksucker” written on his forehead and marveled at their work.

This time the photos they took were for private used only. They posed with the broken body, throwing V's for victory, pointing at the limp cock, pulling on it, pretending to cut it off until one of them reminded the rest that it would be a way too easy death.

It was only a call from HQ that made them leave.

Cor stared into nothingness, unblinking. This too would pass.

At one point he made an effort to struggle against the rusty metal holding him, trying to push himself free with the good leg, but all that caused was white, burning pain. He passed out after only moving a few precious inches.

He tried to pray, but all that was in his head was the feeling of failure, the disappointment on Regis' sweet, oh-so-tired face. His king would caress his cheek, gently wipe away grime and blood, assure him it was only human, and Cor would look into his eyes and know he was lying.

Light was fading fast. Maybe the night would be merciful enough to bring an end that was fast and thorough enough that the shameful thing that was his body could not be identified.

 

Something startled him. Lights in the darkness, approaching slowly. The noise of a car closing in, the sound of the engine shutting down. A tiny glimmer of hope sparked in the soldier, and he tried calling out to whoever it was. A tiny sound from his sore throat that ebbed as soon as he realized it might be more of -them-, coming back to see if their job was finished.

Gravel scrunched under the feet of a single person, and torchlight danced over the destroyed structure of what once had been somebody's house until it finally found the bruised body.

Cor blinked, dry eyes trying to regain vision, but the white light was blinding.

“Pl...please...” The word dripped from his mouth like a last drop of honey.

The torch went out.

 

In the sudden gloom, it seemed to him like the shadows were densifying, slowly arching closer. But somebody had been there, or maybe it was just his head playing tricks on him. Wishful thinking, yeah, that had to be it.

A sharp little pain in his thigh. He knew only too well how an injection felt, and the spreading numbness of a narcotic in his blood was familiar from too many incidents on the battlefield. His body tensed up, unwilling to accept this gift. New agony pulsed through him as he moved, had him gasping for air.

“Iden... t'fy your...” A hopeless order met with rough laughter.

The shadow. The enemy. Cor knew this, despite his head swimming from exhaustion.

The enemy approached him, almost touching his naked flesh, bringing the smell of leather and machine oil and cordite. To Cor, he smelled like home.

Gloved fingers tried to get a grip of his short dark hair, but settled for his jaw in the end, pushing up his head. Under the stars, he saw not more than blackness and inhuman shapes and, tiny as a distant firefly, a green light. “ _-Night vision-_ ”, his experience prompted.

A touch on his cheek. The caress of polished metal, smooth and cold like a stone from a riverbed. The barrel wandered over his skin, coming to a hold at his brittle lips. Pushing. Cor clenched his jaw, a gesture that earned him an almost loving slap with the gun.

“Some cocksucker you are. Open up, you little piece of shit, or I'll bash your teeth in.” A hoarse voice, deliberately low. His mouth was forced open, the barrel entering deep into his throat. The chemical taste filled his world, making him gag.

As the gun moved in his mouth, painfully hitting his palate with every thrust, his mind was eagerly telling him the most likely model and the nice big holes on of those could make.

“Suck it, like the dick of one of your little loverboys. Get it clean and slick.”

The gun got pulled out now and then, so his assailant could be sure this soldier knew how to use his tongue. MTG 752, probably a custom build. No iron sights. Seemed to be his lucky day. Cor laughed desperately, earning him a pistol whipping that made his jaw crack. His head dropped onto his chest, leaving him to drivel spit and blood through rapidly swelling lips.

“Not so funny now, you li'l cunt, eh?”

A kick against his broken leg made Cor howl in pain. All the amusement the enemy had gotten from this visit rapidly turned into rage. He was pushed against the wall he was staked to, embedding new pain into his skin. His laughter returned, hysterical now. Adrenaline and badly dosed narcotic made his world spin. He spat out a tooth, barely noticing the enemy soldier lifting his good leg up into the air, pulling down snot and spitting on his bare behind and bringing himself into position. Only when he drove in balls deep in one angry stroke, his laughter turned into a scream and later, as the pounding continued, into smothered little sobs.

The enemy soldier hit Cor in the face again and again as he came violently, closing his fist around the Immortal's throat, taking away the last bits of breath until his violated body spasmed against his impalement.

Then he let go.

 

Standing there, his dick slowly going limp in the broken body, the soldier breathed in heavily. Stepped back.

Taking his gun out of the holster again, he took aim. The head. The heart. The shriveled dick, trying to escape from all this.

“Slut” he read, and his first idea of disposing of this Lucian bitch returned to his head. His asshole was nicely lubricated and wide now, and his trusted weapon slid in without much resistance. He thrust a few times, but all that was left in Cor were strained gasps that soon became boring.

Maybe it was time, even though he regretted not putting a bullet through this brain the moment he came. Maybe he should even keep this little cocksucker for a while longer, just to show him what each and every one of his people deserved.

Sometimes, decisions were hard. His finger softly stroked the trigger.

“Do not let me disturb you, lieutenant. Just seeing how my men are doing in the field.” A voice as smooth as a polished barrel, freshly oiled, gleaming in the sun. But to hear it here, in this gloom, could only mean one thing. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up, and he saluted.

The gun dropped from Cor, hitting the dirty ground.

 

 


	2. In which Cor goes from smoke to smother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a military man, Cor can't be hanging around forever, even though it might be the better option.

“Chancellor! I was just...”

“You know what the thing is as you get older, lieutenant? You start to forget things. For example, I'm currently missing a word starting with the letter 'P'. There was this order, and it must have been important to me, for otherwise I probably would not had given it... Oh well. Can you help me out?” Ornate boots walked over gravel, shifting and turning slightly as if Izunia was dancing. He sounded to be in a particularly good mood.

“Prisoner, Sir?” The soldier tried not to show his unease. Of course he remembered the order, but it had sounded more like a “dead or alive”-thing to him, and his unit had decided unanimously that death in this case was the option the Insomnian pig deserved.

“Prisoner. Yes. That is the word I was looking for. Thank you so much.” The chancellor put his arm around the soldier's shoulder and beamed at him, his eyes glowing bright in the black and green vision the lieutenant's gear gave him. How long had Izunia been there? He was pointing at the lifeless body now, taking a few steps towards it.

“If you would be so kind, lieutenant, and could get your trouser situation fixed? I'll need a minute here.” He rummaged around in the deep pockets of his coat, and the soldier hurried to vanish behind the next corner, just too happy to be out of this awkward situation for a breather.

Ardyn had found what the was looking for.

“Are you willing to accept help, Marshal?” His fingers lay gently on the grimy cheek, waiting for a nod or a shake of the head, but the only answer he got was labored breathing.

“I'll take that as a yes, then.” He opened the vial he took from his pocket, carefully placing it on Cor's lips. The red liquid started emitting a soft glow when it came into contact with the broken skin, dribbling down the chin. Ardyn sighed and tilted the bent head back like a child trying to feed a puppet. The faint glow now spread down his throat, illuminating the bruised face. A slight cough when consciousness returned.

“Ah, there you are. I'll get you down to earth now, if you don't mind, so we can get your bones set. Do you understand this, Marshal?” Still no reaction, but the bloodshot eyes stared at him in utter hate. He felt the Immortal shiver under his touch. Only after emptying the vial to the last drop the chancellor picked up a piece of the leather that once was a jacket, folded it and offered it to the hanging man. “You may want to bite into this. Just in case it hurts a little.” Cor snorted, but this time accepted the offer.

When Ardyn took hold of the impaled body, slowly pulling the torso from the coarse wall, it was the same grim hate that stifled Cor's screams at first, but as the rusted steel stuck to raw flesh and coagulated blood, all the hate could not save him in the end. His muscle fibers already were trying to knit themselves back together, taking root on the beams' irregular surface, only to be ripped apart again by the steady movement. Cor cried out to the Six, a wordless accusation of letting it come to this. The potion that kept him alive would not allow him to sink into a merciful faint, making him acutely aware of the ripping and the tearing and every little impulse setting fire to his nerves.

The pale blue eyes were wide open in horror, the body lacking even the bit of fluid needed for tears, frozen in anguish. Ardyn smiled.

“Look at me.” His voice so gentle, barely a lover's whisper, the amber eyes flooded black.

“Hush.”

 

When the lieutenant dared to return, the silence had lasted way more than a minute. He had considered it a good idea to let the chancellor have all the time he needed with the prisoner. Maybe he would forget about him while he enjoyed himself.

He was surprised when he found Izunia cradling the Immortal in his arms, holding him like a sleeping child, the bloodied, swollen head resting on the collar of this coat.

“Ah, there you are. I don't mind carrying him, but I need you to get him into your car. And drive him to Dr. Giadero. Tell the lovely people in the ward I sent you, they will take care of the rest.”

“Sir?”

“Shoo! Let us be going.”

 


	3. In which a doctor is met.

“Mister Leonis.”

Cor could not place that voice. It was very beige. Neutral in all ways, and slightly bored.

“Mister Leonis, your vitals tell me you are very much awake now, so please open your eyes and stop pretending.”

The Immortal tried to orient himself before he followed the order. Soft whirr of machinery, conditioned air with a slight aroma of disinfectant. A regular gentle beeping that got faster the more he woke. He tried to move carefully, but found himself unable. A yelp as pain from several sources flooded back into his consciousness, expelling every bit of comfort being knocked out had given him.

The bright neon lights overhead were blinding. A white room. Square tiles on walls and floor. Steel cabinets and tables. Medical equipment, looking more high-tech than anything he had seen in Insomnian hospitals. He was hooked up to most of them. His gaze followed the colorful strands of cables from the machines to where they were stuck to his skin or vanished into it, covered with band-aids.

Cor was naked, fastened to a steel chair with wide leather cuffs over arms, midriff and thighs. Nobody had taken the time to remove the words scribbled on his skin. The designer had taken care to make it adjustable to fit the patient's needs, and probably even more so those of the doctor, who had decided to have him in a reclined position, arms stretched out to either side as if relaxing in an easy chair, legs spread and slightly bent. The bone of his right lower leg stuck out in an odd angle, his flesh scratched and bruised, but still his eyes were drawn to the silver grate that covered a drain in the floor, not willing to look at the sorry state he was in. This drain seemed quite efficient for washing down the whole room in cases where too much mess was made. All in all, it looked like a lab, not an operating room. Where you cut up rats. Gave them electric shocks. Watched as sicknesses and parasites did what they did. Cor's mind, not willing to cope with the current situation, vividly conjured a documentary he once had seen during a sleepless night.

“Mister Leonis.” The beige voice again. “Since you have been so kind to spare me the usual self-indulgent monologue my guests tend to give, let me state the facts so you continue that pleasant taciturnity.” Only now Cor perceived the other person in the room. He was as beige and neutral as his voice. A stern man in his fifties in a white lab coat, his head shaven clean. High cheekbones and a dominant chin with a mouth that was thin and bitter like bile. Gray eyes watched him over small, metal-rimmed glasses.

“You are in a facility in Gralea. You may regard it as a hospital for the time being. That will change later. You were sent here to, how did the lieutenant who brought you here put it, get fixed up good.” A little twitch of the corner of his mouth showed he was rather displeased with that. “My name is Doctor Giadero. _Fixing up_ people is not one of the things I usually do here, but since it was a special friend that sent you here, I will allow an exception.” He thoughtfully took a plastic cup and sipped.

“I regard myself, to forestall your next questions, as a mere researcher, always trying to aid my country. Dulce et decorum est pro patria quaeri, if you like.” He allowed himself a tiny chuckle. It sounded like dry leaves getting crushed. “So I will take care of your injuries, and you will meet your special friend in the end, but I will not forgo my research just to do that. That means for you...” He took a minute to readjust the sensors on Cor's temples and the partially shaven scalp before continuing. “It means I'd be very pleased if you cooperated, describing your experiences during the procedures. I will take care you will be able to do so. Do you understand that, Mister Leonis?”

He repeated the question when the soldier remained silent and adjusted his glasses with a small frown.

“It is up to you, really. If you share your impressions with me and are honest, I will not be forced to amp up stimulation until I get unambiguous results. This is the main reason why I like working with subjects that are able to talk. So, do you understand?”

The sharp neon light flickered ever so slightly, creating a pretty reflection on the silver grate. Cor had a hard time finding his voice and finally opted for a croak and a nod.

“How very reasonable. Thank you. I will tell you how we will proceed now. But first...” He held fresh plastic cup to the prisoner's lips, and the soldier swallowed the water greedily.

“See? I can be quite humane if you are well behaved. As I was saying: I will vet you. Clean the wounds in your chest and set the bone in your leg. There is probably more than slight trauma in your rectal cavity if the lieutenant acted like he is so regrettably prone to do. Before that, I will administer a mixture of chemicals. Something to keep you awake and clear through the procedure, but my interest is mainly in a new drug I'm working on. I call it 'Maenad', but that's more of a working title, really.”  
“Maenad...?” Cor asked hoarsely, trying his best to behave well.

“Oh, a fascinating little twist on your body's adrenaline response. The magical substance in battlefield and in bed.” He seemed oddly excited. “What it will do is creating, ahem, sexual pleasure whenever your fight-or-flight-response kicks in. First in-vivo trials were promising, turning test subjects into raving beasts that feared no pain.”

“You tested it on humans?” The horror in Cor's voice was lost on the doctor.

The thin lips formed a smile.

“Oh, no. Not yet, that is. It is my little pet project, and you, Mister Cor Leonis, will have the honor to be the first to experience it. It is my gift to a hero of Insomnia.”

 


	4. In which some experiments take place

The Immortal tried to appear composed, even though his thoughts were racing, exploring every possible scenario, making wild plans within seconds and then... just giving up. His mind went blank while the doctor injected the IV tubing with the first of several syringes. He watched the scientist calmly as he felt coldness spreading through his veins.

“May I have some more water?”he asked calmly.

“When we are through with this, you may.” Giadero gave a short, approving nod. Cor was a good boy.

The last injection had a milky white color, and both men observed it vanishing through the indwelling catheter fixed in the back of Cor's hand. The doctor filled a new cup, set it to the dry lips and allowed him to drink, then pushed a button on a remote control.

“Test subject H 01072, combination 0A05D. First dose has been applied at...” He took a look at the clock on the wall, “1452. How do you feel, Mister Leonis?”

Cor watched as the veins on his arm started to emerge, turning to a dark blue hue. “I am very awake now. The latest stuff burns a bit. It's still manageable. I'm acutely aware how it spreads through my body.”

The doctor's content face gave him something like hope. He had taken out a glass box and showed it to his subject. In it were several little segmented silver grains, like metal rice. As he tapped on the box, they started writhing. Tiny shiny maggots, gleaming under the neon light.

“Do you know what these are, Mister Leonis? Oh, I need not even ask. These are not used outside of the Empire. As you may have noticed, there is only such and such you're able to cure in the field, especially when residue gets into an open wound. Sure, it will heal just fine with medication, but in most cases it becomes inflamed and requires aftercare. Of course, sometimes saving an unit from death is more important then saving us some work, but the aftercare is rather unpleasant and time-consuming. This is why we have these little fellows.” He placed the box on the table next to him. “Has the burning sensation spread over heart level?”

Cor nodded. The pain in his leg was changing. What went from 'unbearable' to 'serious, but one bad thing among others' slowly became a pulsating, deep sensation that traveled in waves through his pelvis, pounding against his guts. He saw his treacherous cock slowly gaining volume. Giadero had noticed that too, and Cor found the scientist even more revolting when the tiny laugh lines around the eyes wrinkled in delight.

“You see, Mister Leonis, when you were taken down from your unfortunate situation, the units were forced to medicate you to stop you from bleeding to death.” He put on a pair of latex gloves and carefully inserted the first digit of the index finger into the halfway healed hole in Cor's shoulder.

The soldier was prepared to tense up when he saw the hand stretching out to him, but the pain that shot through him was laced with an intense pleasure that made his toes curl. The next breath came out as a moan.

“Ah, it's taking effect as desired. Was this still painful?”

Cor bit his lip and nodded while the gloved finger moved in the wound, ripping apart the new tissue. Fresh blood was welling up, making his way down his chest, painting over the 'Slut' that still marked him. With every move, his cock throbbed to attention a little bit more.

“As I was saying, aftercare can be unpleasant, since we are forced to reopen the wounds.” The second hand took a scalpel from a tray on the table, while the first now spread the edges of the hole apart. With practiced motions layer by layer of the new flesh was stripped away.

“The subject is breathing heavily and displays all signs of sexual arousal. I am now cleaning the wound under the scapula. Blood loss is within normal parameters. Does this hurt, Mister Leonis?”

It did, in a way, but the heat that flooded his body burned it away before it could reach his conscious mind. He shook his head, trying to gather thoughts that were still there, not lost in a sea of bliss.

“Note to self: Lower dose for next trial. Subject too overwhelmed for a possible combat mission. Opening wound on arm now.” It was a deep, in-depth cut this time that made Cor's body shudder in delight. In his mind, the Immortal had found a single number. It was a 4, and he was sure that this was not how one started counting, but he held onto it and just started to continue. 5. 6. 8. No, 7. 8...

He was at 30-something when the pleasure suddenly stopped and the rush of endorphins turn into intense frustration.

“Mister Leonis, how would you describe your condition?”

Marshal. It was Marshal, not Mister. He wanted to scream it into the doctor's face, then beat him into a bloody pulp until the idiot understood about the importance of ranks. Cor's fists opened and closed, his erection raging and as useless as his wrath.

“Too... much...” he grunted, shivering now mostly from the cold air on his sweat-soaked skin instead of any excitement.

“Already?” A very slight disappointment in the beige voice. “The subject will be given a few minutes to regain composure. Treatment will then continue as planned. Some water, Mister Leonis?” Cor groaned and swallowed in big gulps.

“The next step will be to set these”, he took the glass box with the maggots and opened the lid, “into the wounds. They will take care of any residue and should prove as a quite intense experience in your state. However...” He cocked the head ever so slightly and exchanged his bloody gloves for fresh ones, now speaking to the recording device again. “Opposed to all NHs, 01072 still has not climaxed. Both vital signs and brain waves are slightly worrisome. I will try to give assistance to avoid further damage.”

 


	5. In which there is some actual relief.

It was with a sigh that Doctor Giadero put his hands around the throbbing cock, taking them off as he noticed the blood alone would not provide the necessary lubrication. Already the first two or three dry strokes made the soldier moan, but then he decided to add some of the lube he usually used to ease hardware into struggling specimens. “Subject responds well to external stimulation. Will apply MDT now to wounds in shoulder and rectum.” A sad little wail escaped his patient as he took his hands away, and his lower body jerked helplessly, grinding against empty space.

Giadero used tongs to ease the wriggling maggots into those gaping crimson openings. They were hungry, as much of a mixture of Magitek and animal this size could be, and eagerly dug into the raw meat. “Bon appétit”he mumbled, gaze fixed lovingly upon the little ones. These were as much his babies as any creature would ever be, and they were the reason he enjoyed a degree of freedom in his research that only few other scientists shared. Lost in thought his gloved finger traced the pattern the fresh blood drew on the dirty skin, licking his fingertips now and then. Only when the body under his hands started shaking, whimpering in desperation, craving more touch there where skin should be touched, the doctor's thoughts returned to his current project.

Cor was panting, sweat coating his skin. His eyes were narrowed, the mouth slightly opened. A thin trickle of blood ran down his chin where a barely healed laceration on his lips had cracked when he bit down on it some time earlier during the medical ministrations. As the doctor carefully inserted those tiny creatures into him, his mind finally went, allowing himself to ease into the pressure building inside. What usually focused on the area between his legs and some of those sensitive zones only those that knew him too well knew about now set his whole body ablaze. He prayed to the Six, not in words, but in moans and incoherent pleas. Every touch brought new delight, even when he could neither understand anymore what it was that touched him nor place it on his body. He reared against the leather straps, struggling not for an escape, but for more contact with everything, anything.

A voice he knew stated something, devoid of any emotion, beige, and then made Cor's whole being, the hot wet surface that remained of him, come together, collect itself in one point under rhythmic strokes, creating a new universe from burning chaos.

 

The doctor finally was able to focus on relieving his subject, even though he would have preferred on seeing the little ones work. Both of his hands worked the impossibly swollen cock, and he was silently humming a little melody helping him to keep his pace. The strain the soldier's body was under at the moment was nothing he would dare to do to a fellow countryman, and he marveled at the veins and tendons that showed clearly under the pale skin, creating an anatomical map his old professor would have been proud of.

“You know, Mister Leonis, I found it a disgrace first when they brought you here. I know your name and your face, always so close to that disgusting cripple you call king, and they gave me of all people the dubious honor to care for your well-being. I wish the lieutenant lost control like he always does. We would have done a fine job preserving the rests of your head without ruining the traces of the man's deeds, sending it back to Insomnia. So much more assertive than a stern note from the diplomatic corps, don't you think?”

More lube was added, and his grip tightened.

“But now, seeing your excellent physical condition and your willingness to participate, I'm rather pleased to have you here. Until your patron wishes to speak to you, you may very well remain with me. It will surely make for quite an experience.”

He flashed a tiny smile, just for himself and the surveillance camera, while the subject humped against the hollow of his hands, adrift in a sea Giadero hoped he would be able to describe later on.

 

When the Immortal came, it was in silence. The little universe that danced to the exerted beat of his heart clustered up, shattered in myriads of little pieces dancing through a purple void. Then there was only the void.

 

The doctor was worried for a moment when the heart monitor emitted only a panicky beep, but the soldier's heart was strong and stubborn, coming back by itself.

“You made quite a mess, Mister Leonis,” he muttered, taking off his splattered glasses and wiping seminal fluid from his face with a paper towel. He miscalculated pressure and arc of the ejaculation, so for once he could not blame the subject. Probably.

Cor's eyes opened only slowly. His head still was empty, and the deep relaxation that filled every muscle took time to leave and make place for panic and fear, even now. He groaned as the doctor pricked his skin with a needle, bringing new pleasure into his loins.

“I see, Mister Leonis, that we still have time to set your leg without a new dose. How convenient. I see you're feeling fine, aren't you.” It was no real question, and while the soldier still was trying to wrap his head around his current state, the doctor got up, stretched his arms and laid his hands down on the fractured leg, one on the ankle, on right under the knee.

“If you'd be so kind to look at me, Mister Leonis? I have not done this for a while, but I always had a thing for these old-fashioned techniques we used in the field for so many years. Look at me.”

Cor stared blankly at him. Then he screamed as with a sickly noise bone touched bone, and he continued screaming when the pain brought him over the edge for a second time. When he finally fell into darkness, it was but a small mercy.

 


	6. In which somebody is human after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story requests and the like are willingly considered @ardynium.tumblr.com

The Immortal did not know how much time he spent in this cage locked up in a room with the other lab rats. It was not only rats that were kept here, but all kinds of animals, all of them in different stages of madness. Sometimes they fell asleep under the everlasting neon light, sometimes, food was brought, sometimes on of them was taken away or simply died. Most of them had stopped fighting sooner or later. Screaming and rattling at the bars didn't lead to anything but more pain.

The blinded Kingatrice in the cage opposite of him had managed to crack open her own skull on the concrete wall, hitting it again and again with her own head, preferring a quick death to more of whatever it was that gouged out her eyes and changed the beautiful feathers into a oozing brown skin that reminded Cor of a slug. He had more than once wondered if he should follow her example, but suicide was not an option, not even now.

Doctor Giadero was like a child with a new toy in the first time, playing with dosages and pain tolerance, but since he was not allowed to break his toy as much as he liked to, he quickly grew bored, barely taking him to the lab anymore. Caught between drugs and permanent illumination, Cor's perception of time was rather warped, but it felt like an eternity to him.

They taught him about the phases of dying in the few lessons he got at the academy. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. He felt caught between the last two. Even the guards that came to bring him food and to change his pisspot seemed to be advised not to talk to him. Their armor was designed to rob them of every spark of individuality, but slight differences in those movements that were not trained in bootcamp gave them away. One of them made eye contact, ever so shy, brown eyes behind a mask, and when Cor saw those eyes, something that was so very human, so full of condolence, tears welled up in his own eyes. The guard quickly averted his gaze.

The next time this guard came to bring the brown slush that was supposed to be food - full of nourishment, for sure, but looking like dog food on the best of days - the masked face did not dare to look at him, but the tray was not put down on the floor. Instead it was wordlessly offered to him, making it feel like accepting it was his own decision. As if he had any choice. It did not matter. Acceptance.

When he took it, the guard's hands remained for a few moments too long on Cor's hands, and again he remembered painfully what he was lacking.

“Please”, he whispered, and the guard shook his head.

“I can't.” Fingertips pushed down on Cor's hands, leaving him with his food.

 

The next time this guard came, Cor lay on his pallet, staring at the ceiling. One of the other prisoners had been dying all day, wailing and trashing against his cage. Since some time, there was silence. The Immortal had spent his time breathing, trying not to think. Sometimes, he managed.

The shadow that fell over him took him by surprise.

“We don't have much time.” A whispered voice and skin, actual skin, touching his arm. The guard had taken off their gloves, running limber fingers over his naked flesh, as hungry for a touch as he was. Cor drew the armored body closer, on top of him, his heart missing a beat as he felt the weight of another human upon him, another source of warmth under rough fabric. He struggled to get this obstacle off, and the guard's hands helped him eagerly, opening buttons, pushing, pulling at constructs way to complicated for this short moment, until he touched heat, touched skin, and felt another heart, heard an other's heavy breathing under the mask. His hands silently begged to take of that last shield of anonymity, but the guard shook their head, a feverish gaze from brown eyes before a palm, hot and sweaty, was put over his own eyes.

“Relax. I'm here.” A thumb wandered over his mouth, and he took it between his lips, sucking eagerly, thinking of his king and Titus, by the Six, Titus, how he missed him, how he didn't bat an eye since he shared the first kiss with Regis, but still never touched him like he had before, and he felt himself crying in deep, ragged sobs. His hands closed around the armor, searching for skin, finding hip bones, holding onto them, dragging them to his center.

When the heat engulfed him, he gasped, burying himself deeper, thrusting at the center of a dying sun. White before his eyes, and his thoughts flying into nothingness. He was here, once again, after an eternity, he was here, and he was human, and he felt a heartbeat under his hands, and it remained as he came, dissolving into a little puddle that was still him, him again.

Under the guard's caress, he mumbled something that might have been words of gratitude, or a blessing, or a curse. Then he fell into a deep sleep, be it from exhaustion or unwillingness to bear a parting, before the hand was even lifted from his eyes, still holding tight onto the stranger's oh so human skin.

 


	7. An interlude

They put ink under his skin. Doctor Giadero had insisted on it before they took him away. A little goodbye gift, visible only under black light. A barcode on the outside of his right wrist, like all the creatures in the cages wore it, easy to scan when desperate paws were wrapped around bars.

     When they took him from the permanent bright lights of the holding cells, they covered his head with a hood, making it hard to breathe. They cuffed his hands behind his back and forced him to walk, every step like a knife in his wounded leg. Healing. It was not healed. He was not here long enough for that. He held unto that thought.

     He was on his knees when they took off the fabric, the muzzle of a gun between his shoulderblades, close to collapse from the strain the path placed upon him. Never had he thought stairs could be so hard to climb. Every step a mountain, every step a single gasp for air that felt like the last. His lips were bleeding from biting down on them by the time they arrived. Still he refused to give into them, to give up, to quench that last bit of firey rage that kept him a human being, that kept him Cor, Cor Leonis, the Immortal, the beloved of the King, the whore of the King, the whore of a soldier, the nameless piece of meat exploding from gloved hands, and he cursed himself for remembering, for doubting Regis and mankind with him.

     He was Cor, and he gulped a deep breath of musty air when they took off the hood, and he tasted mold and rot and his own blood. A kick into his back let him tumble to the ground, hitting the smooth floor without any chance to chatch himself, and the boot between his shoulders told him to stay down, and so he did.

     It was dark in here, and cold, and as the soldiers strode away, he doubled up, and he cried. It was the first time the last days came to revisit his thoughts, the first time the stress was far enough above his threshold to drown out any reason, any conditoning to cope, to ignore.

    Cor was alone, and when the walls around him were crumbling down, there was no reason not to let them go.

 

 


	8. In which Cor gets a visitor

     Loqi Tummelt did not come down here often. If he was honest, he had come down here once, when he was new at the base and ordered to get something from the store rooms. He was sixteen then and got lost, and he decided that the third floor of the basement was not a good place to be. It felt _cursed_ , and he didn't even believe in such superstitious nonsense, but floor 3B was were things were put to wait, and it was where that fucker of a chancellor spent his free time when he was here, and he left traces of the things he did all over the place. Runes in the walls that only were there when you look closely, but never right at them, runes that made the time down here feel all wonky and wrong. Nobody came here if it wasn't totally unavoidable, not even the rats.

     And still, he was here now, and all for one man. The hero of Insomnia. The Immortal. Loqi was well aware that the man was a major player of the enemy, but he heard so many stories about him, even before he even decided to join the forces, and this might be his only chance to take a look at the legend before he...

     Loqi shivered. He had been in the military long enough to see some of the things war did to men, and even if he'd never admit that to his peers: those things got to him. He liked to present himself as an unfazeable loudmouth, balls from solid titanium, and he was sure he was getting there. As long as they believed him, he could believe himself, and when he sometimes lost himself because it all became too much, the folks at the brothel he frequented were a discreet bunch and he paid them well.

     The ray of his flashlight danced over the sign of the door.

     Yes. This was the room they kept him in. No keycards here, no pad for fingerprints, just an old-fashioned keyhole. Getting a copy of the key had been a small adventure in itself, and he hoped the meeting would be worth it.

     On the recordings Cor Leonis had been such an upright man, and, if Loqi was honest, quite an attractive one. Sometimes he made one of the girls in the brothel, a boyish thing with short dark hair, wear a replica of the Crownsguard uniform when he took her from behind, pushing her head down into the pillows, talking about pride and fatherland.

     His hand shook a little as he inserted the key. He turned it with some difficulty and opened the metal door, holding his breath.

 

     The first thing that hit him was the stench. A restroom at a station late at night, sweat and dirt and sadness. The cone of light danced over a metal bucket that served as a toilet and hadn't been emptied for days, over dirty concrete floor still crusted with the remains of the last inhabitants, and finally rested on the bruised and broken man that sat in a corner, the legs outstretched, his back against the wall. He closed his eyes as the light hit him. This was the Immortal? This broken-down, filthy creature, covered in dried blood and cuss words? He was supposed to be lean and in uniform and...

     Loqi felt his cock twitch and come to life as he viewed the scene, and he bit down on his lip hard. It was one thing to -play- things like this in the whorehouse, but this, this was real, and he was horrified, and he was angry at himself for getting excited from this mess, and he told himself that this wreck could not be him, could not be one of the heroes of his childhood. He only looked a bit like him. This man had an unkempt beard and no honor at all. Yeah. Just a bad doppelganger.

     When the man slowly lifted his hand, nails broken from clawing at the walls, and shielded his face from the light to look at his visitor, the young man recoiled.

     Eyes like the winter sky looked at him blankly.

 

     It took a few moments before Loqi found his speech again. He had played through this scene many times in his head, what he would say to the Immortal, how he would thank him for being an inspiration even though the circumstances were rather difficult, how they would shake hands like men, maybe even exchange pat on the shoulder or even a hug, for he surely would have taken his confinement like a gentleman. His cock stood to full attention now, painfully pressing against the trousers of his uniform.

     “Marshal?”

     A slight wince around the dried out lips. There was life in him yet, and Loqi watch the older man as he tried to focus on a title they had burnt out of his mind, and he wondered how much they had destroyed. It pained him to watch his hero like this, and he waited patiently, watched as the tip of tongue tried in vain to moisten those lips, to form words, but it was only silence that followed. Cor's hand sank back down, all available energy spent for one last try to escape the brightness. Not even his pupils tried to block out the light anymore, giant dark pools staring through Loqi without recognizing him as another human being.

     Loqi let himself fall back on the floor. First there was a need to cry, but soon he found himself laughing, laughing hysterically until he almost passed out, for this man was dead, and yet, he was still breathing and warm, and maybe he could have saved him if he only found him earlier, and his dick felt long and hard.

     A part of him knew something inside him that already was cracked finally had shattered, but a bigger part decided not to care about it. If this was the way one needed to be to rise through the ranks, if it were degenerates the chancellor wanted among his men, he could very well fill that profile.

     “Just be yourself”, he murmured as he dragged the lifeless man down from his sitting position, turning him around forcefully. “Marshal, Marshal, what a bad example you are.” He dragged Cor's hips up, trying to place him in a stable position.

     “Such a skinny ass. Such a filthy, skinny ass. Look at you, like the worst kind of junkie. A disgrace for your country.” How long had the man been here? He looked like he was locked up here for weeks, but it had only been a few days since he was brought here. Fuck that bloody Izunia fucker.

     Loqi spread the cheeks and drew a glob of saliva and slime from deep inside his throat, and he spit, hitting his mark. Flashlight fastened to his jacket, he freed his cock and spudded in without further preparation. His path would open sooner or later, and this one would not complain about wear and tear.

     He never expected the real thing would feel so wrong and dirty and yet so deeply arousing that it canceled out any doubts, any disgust that had remained. He was making this man his bitch, this ridiculous hero, this weakling, this piece of shit, and he told him so while he was pumping into him, while he was pressing down Cor's head into the dirty floor, and he spat with every word as self-control was only a vague memory, and he kept on pumping as the door opened.

     Heavy steps, and then an armored hand on his shoulder.

     “What do you think you're doing, Major Tummelt?” The voice was very deep and very controlled, faint thunder on the horizon. When the back of the armored hand hit him in the face, he was knocked out before he even fell to the floor.

     General Glauca took the time to kick the little weasel in the ribs before he squatted down next to the lifeless prisoner, picking him up with the ease his armor allowed him.

     “You look like shit, buddy. Sorry they got to you before I could.”

     Titus could not allow himself emotions now, not even for a man that sometimes shared his bed. Izunia was waiting.

     He locked the door behind them, leaving Loqi to sit and think about what he had done.

     This would have repercussions.

 


	9. In which a wake is held.

He could not take Cor to the higher ranks in this state, not when he looked like that. Rather: He did not want to. This was no way to treat a prisoner, and for sure this was no way to treat a man he respected.

Glauca carried him into the meager luxury of the quarters he inhabited when tasks brought him here – the task, in this case, was a meeting with Izunia, and he could not shake the feeling that this meeting was only set here so he would find the Immortal, to see what Niflheim did to its enemies – and he was not really sure what he could do for this broken man.

He had seen shell shocked soldiers. Of course, he had. He had seen those that were catatonic, and the desperate attempts to help them, but somehow, this was worse. Probably because he _knew_ him.

The people he met on his walk to his quarters pushed themselves to the walls, making way, eager not to break his stride.

 

The automatic doors closed behind them.

He placed the body on his bed and dimmed the lighting.

“It will be okay”, he said automatically. Wounded comrades close to death needed to be consoled. This would not be okay.

For a few minutes he sat beside his former lover, forcing the armor they gave him back into minimal mode, holding Cor's hand. Just holding. He never had held hands with him, and it felt strange.

“Cocksucker, mh?” The faded letters on the grimy forehead caught his eye, and he read what else on this body was still readable. _Slut. Cunt. Fuck me._

“Well shit. Looks like those fuckers knew you well.” A rough laugh, but it was more out of habit and because he actually felt _guilty_. This was close to a first.

“Let's clean you up. That's the least I can do.”

 

The white tiles in the bathroom where only illuminated by what little came through the open door. He had placed Cor in the bathtub, one of those useless luxuries Titus himself rarely needed, and used the showerhead to give him a first washdown, taking away at least the coarsest dirt and a bit of the stench. He knew how dirty humans could be, but he never imagined Leonis in this position. He had always been prim and proper, no matter how hard things got.

 

It took paint thinner and time to remove the black marker, and then a lot of scrubbing and cursing to get him clean again. It was like washing a dead body, only this one very occasionally blinked.

Buried deep in his memories, Titus remembered his mother washing his grandpa's body when he died in his favorite chair, only they laid him out on the kitchen table and most of the close family were there to help. They drank and very rarely cursed, and they prayed to the Six, especially Shiva, for it was a hot day. With the evening, the neighbors came, and grandpa's old friends, and the house was filled with people that seemed ancient like the world to little Titus.

They drank and played music and later, when they were drunk, they started singing and telling stories about the deceased, and they stayed til the sun rose.

 

It was later when he was content with the way Cor looked. Still like death incarnate, but at least not like somebody dragged him out of the gutter.

Titus went and got two glasses and a bottle of Lucian whiskey, and he filled them up, placing one on the edge of the bathtub, keeping the other in his hand. He sat down on the lid of the toilet and took a deep breath.

It took him a few minutes to sort his words, and he raised his glass. “To Cor Leonis, the Immortal, a stubborn ass of a man if I ever met one. And I met him quite some years ago, and let me tell you, the boy...”

 

 

“General Glauca, Sir.”

“Oh, what an early bird he is. I expected him... pray, _mon general_ , when did I expect you? About six hours ago? But you brought me a present.” Ardyn nodded at his secretary, and the man scrambled, eager to get away from those two giants and the dead man.

“Please sit the prisoner down in his chair, will you?”

Glauca did so, as gently as he managed. For a moment, his armored hand rested upon Cor's shoulder. He had put him into one of his white shirts and pairs of boxers. They were too big on the Immortal's haggard frame.

“What did you do to him, Izunia?”

The chancellor smirked, and Titus wanted to break his jaw that very instant.

“Are you a tiny bit tipsy, my dear general? I'll let it slide, for I know these are _special circumstances_. You may leave now. Sure you have things to do. And General?” He reached for a coffee mug. _World's worst boss_ was printed on it in golden letters. “A little bird told me a young man got lost down in 3B. I'd be much obliged if you took care that he gets out of there alive.”

“Sir.”

 

 

 


	10. In which things come to an end

“Ah, Marshal. You will excuse me saying this, but you look a bit... under the weather?” Ardyn Izunia leaned back in his chair, one of those luxurious, spine-friendly, leather-coated designer-things that would cost a simple soldier several months of his salary.

“May I offer you something? Coffee? Tea? A little brandy? It came to my ears that you quite enjoy drinking. No?”

Eyes like the winter sky stared blankly.

“You surely don't mind if I have some, do you? Oh, I had the hunch you wouldn't.” He filled a gold-rimmed glass with a liquid the color of dark honey, sipped and sighed, very content with the situation and himself.

“Ah, how very pleasant to have such lively company. And how very pleasant you don't feel the need to ask the usual questions. You do know them. How could I, why did I, will I finally kill you now, oh please, make the pain stop, you can't bear this anymore, et cetera, et cetera.”

He placed his boots on the desk, took another sip and closed his eyes for a minute, humming a little tune.

“You know, dear Cor – you don't mind if I call you Cor, do you? We went through so much together -, I honestly thought you'd break earlier. Would have saved us all some time. You don't have to prove you're a terribly brave boy. Not to me. I _like_ them bruised and broken. So easy to please.” A smile washed over his face and faded in shadows flickering over him like stormclouds over the sky.

“You surely wondered about what I wanted to talk with you. Must be important business if I so rudely interrupt you little getaway.” He emptied his glass and got up, flouncing to the living dead man with all the time in the world, and got down on his knees by his side to kiss him. One hand held Cor's head like that of a doll, while black oil streamed through Ardyn's mouth, filling the marshal's world up with his very own filth.

 

_Cor_.

For a long time there had been nothing. Hazy memories, vague feelings, nothing more. Then there was a _voice_ , and the voice was in ink-black heavens, and there was a _name_ , and it was his name. Was this Death coming? It did not feel that way. There was a slight feeling of awe in the pit of his stomach, the kind he was probably supposed to feel when he was a kid and grandpa make him visit the holy places of the Six.

_You may rest now. If that is what you wish._

He wanted to say “Yes. Let me rest.” so very, very much, because with the voice the memories came back, horrible and clear, but he could not bring himself to these words.

“Allow me to go. I have a duty to fulfill.” He tried to stand to attention, but where he was now, his body was very much among those other memories.

_There will be a price._

“Anything,” he said and cursed himself a heartbeat later. Thought of Regis. Repeated the word.

“ _Anything.”_

 

_Is that so._

The Nothing around him pulled together, manifested into a vaguely humanoid creature, the upper body balancing on blackness like on a giant snake tail.

_Embrace me. Give yourself to me._

The creature smiled, stretching out his hands towards him, and he willed himself to stumble there, as much as the animal in him wanted to flee, screamed at him to tug in his tail and run. He was sick to his stomach.

Arms of black goo closed around him, the idea of bones something utterly foreign, dragging him close, into the being itself, and he felt his muscles failing, becoming useless remnants of tissue.

Where it touched him, numbness spread, and it spread through all the little cuts and scrapes that remained after a eternity down in the cells, taking away the pain.

Taking away everything.

_Do you want to forget? Do you want to be pure again?_

 

“ _Yes.”_

Cor was not sure if he thought the word or really spoke it out loud, but the thing heard and understood.

_As you wish._

 

The numbness spread to his bones, taking them away, taking away the memory of ever having them.

He was Cor Leonis.

He was useless, only a torso. No arms. No legs. Did he ever have those?

He was the Immortal.

The shadow engulfed him further, filling him up, erasing him piece by piece. His skin went away, and he was raw flesh.

No more heart.

No more lungs

The thing came to him and kissed him, making way inside him through his mouth, through his eyes. Covering the last of him.

He was...

 

What little light there still was, it faded. So did the sound of blood or the sea pulsing through his ears. His body went away like the little songs the nocturnal insects sang when dawn came, ebbing away into nothing.

His mind remained.

 

A part of him had been ready, had been willing to be snuffed out, as ready as one could be, but now, fear rose, icy flowers covering every thought, and with the fear, the feeling returned. Deep under the waves he was, floating weightlessly, the pressure of the water almost crushing him. This was as far as he could go.

Rippling currents tugged at his insides, opening him up and making him hard. He gave in to the motions, letting himself drift.

His hips were moving, his cock rubbing against something slick and warm, and he was filled to the brim and he could _feel_ his _breath_ and his _heart_ and his mind went away now, finally, went to a blissful place in the dark that was bitter and sweet and slightly salty.

 

The universe around him vibrated with a mighty pulse that matched his own, deafening and comforting, getting faster as his own got faster.

The thoughts came and went, tides on the shore that was Cor.

He was _Cor_.

When he came, it was his own name that was on his lips.

 

 

 

The marshal woke, alone in a ditch at the roadside. His head hurt, and he felt like something huge had chewed and swallowed him, only to spit him out again. The sorry remains of his motorcycle were lying over there, and his body was scraped and worn. Did he have an accident? He shook his head and carefully checked for broken bones.

It was only now that he realized he was naked except for some white boxers that were not his own and his boots.

“The fuck”, he asked the world at large, and the heavens answered with heavy drops of rain, sporadic at first, but then becoming a righteous downfall.

He sighed and made a descision. Walking along the road wouldn't get him any wetter than sitting here, and if he was lucky, somebody would pick him up.

Focus on the task at hand.

Don't think.

 


	11. Epilogue

He had been walking for an hour or two when the first car drove by, even though _walking_ was a lie. Tumbling, falling, getting up again, knees scraped and bloody, shivering in the cold rain. Too empty inside to even curse.

The car was a huge, ugly thing the color of a whore's lipstick, too new to count as a classic, too old to be fashionable, with white racing stripes. It drove by, splashing him with even more water, but then came to a halt. Shifted gears. Slowly drove backwards. The window was cranked down, and a young man gazed at him.

“Having a bad day, aren't you?”

“Mh.” Cor was lacking words, even though he tried. The boy behind the wheel smiled. Long hair in a ponytail and big horn-rimmed glasses, bright hazel eyes.

“It's not like I never had one of those. Need a ride?”

“You would...?”

“Sure. Hop in. Just.. put the boots into the trunk. And maybe get the blanket from there. Don't wanna get stains on the seat, nothing personal.”

 

The marshal did as he was told and climbed into the passenger seat, barefooted and wrapped into the blanket, still shivering.

“There's hot coffee in the thermos down there, if you want some.” The boy pointed a bony finger. “Plenty of sugar in that one. You look like you need it.”

Cor nodded thankfully and filled the lid. Strong and fragrant and bittersweet. Ebony beans.

“Thank you. Really. Where are you going?”

“Oh, just a little road trip. Any place you need to be?”

_Insomnia_ was the first thing that came to his mind, but that he did not say.

“Hammerhead, probably. Or someplace I can rent a bird.”

“That's... a bit of way, but sure. Why not.” He smirked. “Care to tell me what happened to you? Or was it that good of a night?”

Cor blinked. Tried to remember, but there was _nothing_.

“I must have had an accident...”

 

 

 


End file.
